Mortal Abbey
by Stale Fruitcake
Summary: When a dinner held at Downton Abbey goes terribly wrong, Magnus Bane has to help his old colleague, Lord Grantham. Conveniently, Lady Cora's shadowhunter friends, the Lightwoods also happen to be dining at the estate. It should be noted that the author publishes this story at great personal risk. Physical harm has been threatened upon his person for creating such crossover.
1. Chapter 1

There were many rules that the servants of Downton Abbey had to follow, but one rule preceded all others: never venture into Lord Grantham's study. This was even more important than folding the linens or spacing the silverware correctly. Unless, of course, you asked Mr. Carson. He was very particular about the silverware.

Of course, Daisy was never known for her lack of curiosity or surplus of intellect. It only seemed natural that she would be the first to break the rule, as well as the first to die.

You see, Lord Grantham was a warlock of prodigious power, a gift he had passed on to his daughter Edith. As a warlock, his demonic heritage allowed him to perform magic and summon and bind his distant infernal relatives. He usually had one bound up at one time or another in the great pentacle burnt into the floor of his study. Daisy had been unfortunate enough to wander into his office at such a time that a demon was present, and Lord Grantham was not.

And so it was that Lord Grantham stood back to back with his wife, Lady Cora, doing battle with the spawn of hell that Daisy had somehow unleashed. Doubtless, the poor girl's remains were going to be difficult for Anna to clean up. Fire crackled and spat in Grantham's hands, and his dinner jacket was looking a bit worse for wear. His graying hair was plastered to his head and the hellfire he summoned cast a sinister glare on his face. Cora however, still looked immaculate. Her evening gown was somehow spotless, despite the fact that the heavy Calvary saber she held was covered in demonic ichor.

Cora was nephilim, a Shadowhunter. Just as the blood of demons ran through her husband's veins, Angelic blood flowed through hers. She was faster and stronger than average humans and was able to carry the runes that enhanced her abilities. She had passed on her gifts to her daughters, Mary and Sybil.

"Dear," Lord Gratham questioned "do you think we could possibly herd this creature into the second parlor before we kill it? The stains are terribly difficult to remove and we are having company tonight."

"Of course," Cora replied as she leapt to the side to avoid a lashing tentacle. "How could I have forgotten? We're dining with Magnus tonight." She raised her voice slightly, "Mary, could you be a dear and fetch a seraph blade?"

Mary entered the room, bearing her perpetual scowl as well as the requested weapon. She tossed the gleaming blade to her mother and drew the rapier that hung at her side, her usual weapon of choice.

"Can I help?" Edith asked timidly from the next room.

"No," Mary replied coldly. "We don't require any downworlder aid. This creature is practically your cousin." Cora shot her daughter a disapproving glance that was interrupted by another swipe of the demon's tentacle.

"Oh?" Edith said mildly from the next room. "Is it? My cousin is also your cousin. Maybe you should wed so you can inherit the estate."

"Girls!" Cora shouted, "Now is not the time!" With a practiced twist of her wrist, she severed the offending tentacle as her husband's fire hit home and finished the demon.

"Oh dear," Mr. Carson said as he walked in. "I'll get Daisy to clean this up immediately."

Lord and Lady Grantham glanced at each other. Cora spoke first.

"I don't think Daisy will be cleaning anything ever again."


	2. Chapter 2

The night of the dinner arrived, and it seemed to all to be a pleasant if uneventful evening. At one end of the table, Magnus Bane sat discussing magic with Lord Grantham. Magnus was dressed with his usual disdain for regular party attire and was wearing a red silk dinner jacket. Somewhere in the middle of the table Lady Grantham and the Lightwoods spoke of Shadowhunter issues. On the other end, Mary and Sybil talked of the advantages of different weaponry with Alec and Isabel Lightwood. Alec was looking uncomfortable in his shabby haircut and ill-fitting dinner jacket. Isabel, on the other hand, was wearing a dress of a daring cut that _just _managed to be tasteful and seemed at ease. Edith was, as always, left out due to her warlock heritage. On the part of the servants, Carson went about the diner with his usual nearly obsessive regard for detail. For once, Thomas seemed equally attentive, but only towards Bane.

"You make an excellent point Magnus, I'll have to try an Enochian script in my summoning circle next time. It might hold a bit better," Lord Grantham said.

"Perhaps you could test it with another kitchen maid. It appears as if Daisy did an excellent job finding the flaw with your your last circle," the Dowager Countess observed dryly. Much like her son, she was a widely known and feared warlock.

Magnus burst out laughing, and Lord Grantham was about to reply when he was suddenly interrupted. The door crashed open. Carson spun around abruptly, aghast at the impropriety of someone daring to enter the dining room unannounced. A man of medium height entered the dining room, dressed in a decent but plain suit. He had a clean cut and wholesome look that was marred only by his slight expression of disdain.

Lord Grantham stood up. "Mathew," he said, his voice quaking with barely restrained anger. Cora put a steadying hand on his arm. "You are not welcome here. Please remove yourself immediately."

Mathew smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Is that any way to treat your heir Robert?"

"You killed the original heir and sank the Titanic for good measure," the Dowager Countess said. "I do believe that sort of thing disqualifies you from the running."

"I think you'll change your mind," Mathew replied with another smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You see, I've made some new acquaintances. Are you familiar with Valentine Morgenstern?" The room suddenly got even quieter. "Good," Mathew continued. "I see you are. He and I decided that this house rightfully belongs in the hands of Nephilim. You have one months time to transfer ownership to me and grant me one of your daughters' hand in marriage to cement the deal." Mary and Sybil both glanced at Edith.

"And what do course of action do you intend to take if I decline your proposal?" Lord Grantham asked.

"I have no qualms about killing downworlders such a yourself. Such is the duty of a Shadowhunter and a Crawley. But, it would be a shame to shed Nephilim blood. Even traitorous Nephilim blood, " he said with a gesture towards Cora. "Think about it." Having given his ultimatum, he turned and walked out of the dining room and into the night. Everyone sat in stunned silence.

Magnus smiled and said, "You do throw the best parties, Robert."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Sorry I've been a bit slow to update. I'll try to get a new chapter in every two weeks or so. Thank you for all of the kind reviews (and the marriage proposal)!

Lord Grantham ground his fingers into his temples trying to banish the fierce headache he had acquired and leaned forward onto his elegant desk. Downton had seen its share of dinner parties gone terribly wrong, and afterwards he had always retreated to his study to carefully plan his next move and brush up on his spellwork. Now was no different. He had briefly entertained the notion of bringing the Lightwoods into his sanctum to discuss the situation, but had discarded it. Shadowhunters and a room full of dangerous demonic artifacts and grimoires wouldn't mingle nicely. He and Magnus had gone up and left the others to finish the dinner in some semblance of peace.

"I'll admit," Lord Grantham said, "We've gotten into some fairly tight spots. But this is by far the tightest. What would you do in my place, Magnus? You and I both know that I'd never surrender Downton or one of my daughters to that monster."

Bane thought for a moment. "You can always count on my aid," he replied. "But if even half the things I hear about this Valentine Morgenstern are true, I fear you'll need more help than I can give."

"Downton's situation is unique," Robert sighed. "Our mixture of Shadowhunters and Downworlders coexisting alienates us from most of both groups. I doubt we can find aid."

"There is one person you could turn to," Magnus said slowly.

"You can't mean?"

"Yes. Mr. Pamuk."

"Not after the last unfortunate incident," Lord Grantham said finally.

"Oh, come now," Bane replied lightly. "It wasn't that bad. He just had a bit of a fling with Mary. Quite frankly, I doubt if I could have resisted him myself. I've always had a bit of a thing for vampires."

"Do you really think the vampires would lend us aid?" Lord Grantham asked.

"I doubt they'll 'lend' us anything." Magnus replied. "Whatever help they give will come at a price. And a high one at that. But I don't think we have many options left. Besides," he said with a smile, "I think Lady Mary will be delighted to see him again.


	4. Chapter 4

It is fact that when something happens in one of the great houses, the servants are the first to know about it. Downton was no different than any of the other great houses, at least in that respect. The moment Mr. Pamuk entered the grounds Tom Branson was the first to know.

Branson wasn't fond of Shadowhunters. They were at the top of a crooked and archaic hierarchy that drew mercifully closer to toppling every day. He didn't like warlocks either. Branson never considered himself a scholar of anything other than history or politics. But he felt that it didn't take a well-educated man to realize that those who played with demonic powers were dangerous at best.

But, above all, Tom Branson loathed vampires.

Granted, he was a lycanthrope. His kind and the vampires had always been enemies. To him, vampires seemed like nothing more than oversized ticks. The only difference was that they were cleverer and twice as hard to kill.

Since his services weren't required at the moment, he went down to the servants' quarters to discuss this new development. Other than Mrs. Patmore, who was twice as busy since Daisy's unfortunate accident, most of the servants had gone up to welcome Mr. Pamuk. Thankfully, Anna and William came down the stairs shortly after Branson himself.

"Did you smell it?" he asked them, bypassing any semblance of greeting.

William nodded. "He smells like 'e crawled out of a crypt. Gives me the willies."

Anna sighed. "Honestly, you two! He's committed worse crimes than being a vampire. What is it with your kind and his?"

Branson was about to reply when Carson appeared around the corner. For such a large man Carson possessed unbelievable stealth.

"Is there a holiday I am unaware of?" He asked mildly. "Perhaps Mathew has gathered a host of demons outside the front door and you are discussing strategy?"

"No Mr. Carson," they all spoke in unison.

"Then I see no reason you should be here," Carson replied, "Off you go then."

Only after the servants dispersed did Carson allow his carefully constructed mask to slip. He was worried. Not for the first time, he wished he possessed the combat expertise of a Shadowhunter, or the potent sorceries of a warlock. But he did not. He was just an ordinary man, unable to defend the house and the family he cared so much for. No matter. He straightened his jacket, rearranged his facial features into an appropriately stern expression and prepared to serve dinner. It was all he could do, so he'd be damned if he didn't do it right.

Mathew raised the glass to his lips and took another sip of wine. It was delicious, but bitter. He reflected that the best things in life often were.

"So," Valentine Morgenstern said, taking another bite. "It appears as if Lord Grantham is gathering allies. He means to fight us."

Mathew took his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. "I am disappointed. The house might get damaged in the fighting. And Mary was rather attractive. Still, they probably would have foisted off the middle daughter on me. Ethyl or whatever her name was. I suppose this complicates matters." He glanced up at Valentine. "What course of action do you propose we take?"

Valentine thought for a moment, his dark eyes clouded with thought. "I propose we move the date of the attack up by three days," he said.

"An excellent plan," Mathew laughed. "That's right when the fair stops by. It should prove to be a memorable night for all in attendance!"

It was rare that a rare that a stranger came to the village surrounding Downton. Unfamiliar faces were as rare as the Dowager Countess losing a gardening competition. But here one stood, in the graveyard adjacent to the church.

His suit was dark and crisp, and his hat was pulled low over his face. He didn't move or talk. He simply stood staring at a headstone, a small, humorless smile playing at his lips. He had been standing, just like that, for the better part of an hour.

Eventually, the vicar took notice and went out to speak to him. "Hello sir," he said, a bit spooked by the stranger. "What brings you to our church? Are you mourning a loved one, or perhaps a friend?"

The stranger didn't turn around, but he laughed. His laugh was just like his smile. Small. Humorless. "I suppose you could say that," he replied. Then he nodded politely towards the vicar and left the cemetery. Only after he went did the vicar think to glance down at the grave the man had been gazing at so intently. The letters chiseled into the fine, grey stone were new, and relatively unworn.

The name read: Patrick Crawley. The vicar shrugged at the strangeness of it all and went back inside the parsonage to make a cup of tea.


End file.
